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“Español?[63]” he asked.
The Patagonian nodded in reply.
“That’s good!” said the Major. “Our friend Paganel will help us.”
Paganel came at once, and saluted the stranger with all the grace of a Frenchman. But the Patagonian did not understand a single syllable.
However, Paganel began in Spanish, and said: “Vos sois um homen de bem[64].”
The native listened, but made no reply.
“He doesn’t understand,” said the geographer.
“Perhaps you haven’t the right accent,” suggested the Major.
Once more Paganel repeated his compliment, but with no better success.
“I’ll change the phrase,” he said; and in slow, deliberate tones he went on: “Sem duvida um Patagão[65].”
No response still.
“Dizeime![66]” said Paganel.
But no answer came.
“Vos compriendeis?[67]” shouted Paganel, at the very top of his voice.
Evidently the Indian did not understand, for he replied in Spanish: “No comprendo[68].”
Addressing the Patagonian, Glenarvan repeated the word: “Español?”
“Sí, sí[69],” replied the Indian.
Paganel’s surprise became absolute stupefaction.
“It’s clear enough the man speaks Spanish.”
“Yes, he certainly speaks Spanish. Perhaps it is some other language you have been studying all this time instead of—”
But Paganel would not allow him to proceed. He shrugged his shoulders, and said stiffly: “You go a little too far, Major.”
“Well, how is it that you don’t understand him then?”
“Why, of course, because the man speaks badly,” replied the learned geographer, getting impatient.
“He speaks badly; that is to say, because you can’t understand him,” returned the Major coolly.
“Come, come, McNabbs,” put in Glenarvan, “your supposition is quite inadmissable. My good Paganel—explain it then.”
“I explain nothing. I give proof. Here is the book I use daily, to practice myself in the difficulties of the Spanish language. Examine it for yourself, Major,” he said, handing him a volume, from the depths of one of his numerous pockets.
“And what’s the name of this book?” asked the Major, as he took it from his hand.
“The ‘Lusiades’[70], an admirable epic, which—”
“The ‘Lusiades’!” exclaimed Glenarvan.
“Yes, my friend, the ‘Lusiades’ of the great Camoens, neither more nor less.”[71]
“Camoens!” repeated Glenarvan; “but Paganel, my unfortunate fellow, Camoens was a Portuguese! It is Portuguese you have been learning for the last six weeks!”
“Camoens! ‘Lusiades’! Portuguese!” Paganel could not say more. He looked vexed, while his companions broke out in a furious burst of laughter.
The Indian never moved a muscle of his face. He quietly awaited the explanation.
“Fool, idiot, that I am!” at last uttered Paganel. “Is it really a fact? You are not joking with me? It is what I have actually been doing? Ah me! My friends, what is to become of me? To start for India and arrive at Chili! To learn Spanish and talk Portuguese! Laugh away, my friends, laugh as loud as you like; you can’t laugh at me half as much as I laugh at myself!”
“But, I say,” said the Major, after a minute, “this doesn’t alter the fact that we have no interpreter.”
“Oh, don’t distress yourself about that,” replied Paganel, “Portuguese and Spanish are much alike. In a very short time I shall be able to thank the Patagonian in the language he speaks so well.”
Paganel was right. He soon managed to exchange a few words with the stranger, and found out even that his name was Thalcave[72], a word that signified “The Thunderer.”
But what rejoiced Glenarvan most was to learn that he was a guide by occupation, and, moreover, a guide across the Pampas.
When the party went back to Robert, the Patagonian silently laid his hand on his head, and proceeded to examine him with the greatest care, gently feeling each of his aching limbs. Then he gathered a few handfuls of wild celery, which grew on the banks, with which he rubbed the child’s body all over. He handled him with the most exquisite delicacy, and his treatment revived the lad’s strength.
Happily, Thalcave was a practiced guide, and one of the most intelligent of his class. He undertook to find all that was needed, and offered to take them to Indians, where he could get supplies. This proposition was partly made by gestures, and partly by a few Spanish words which Paganel managed to understand. His offer was accepted, and Glenarvan and his learned friend started off with him at once.
Thalcave did the bargaining. It did not take long. In exchange for seven ready saddled horses, 100 pounds of dried meat, several measures of rice, and leather bottles for water, the Indians agreed to take twenty ounces of gold.
Chapter XVI. The News of the Lost Captain
Next day, the 22nd of October, at eight o’clock in the morning, Thalcave gave the signal for departure. The travelers made good progress and about four o’clock the Cordilleras lay full forty miles behind them. They were all somewhat fatigued with the journey, and glad enough to halt for the night on the banks of the Neuquem[73].
No incident of any importance occurred that night or the following day. They rode well and fast, finding the ground firm, and the temperature bearable.
It was the 20th of October, and the tenth day since they had left Talcahuano. They were still ninety miles from the point where the Rio Colorado crosses the thirty-seventh parallel, that is to say, about two days’ journey. Glenarvan kept a sharp lookout for the appearance of any Indians, intending to question them, through Thalcave, about Captain Grant, as Paganel could not speak to him well enough for this.
In the evening the Patagonian stopped Paganel by a gesture, and asked:
“You are in search of a prisoner?”
“Yes,” replied Paganel.
Glenarvan requested him to ask the Patagonian if he had heard of any foreigners who had fallen into the hands of the Indians of the Pampas.
Paganel did so, and waited an answer.
“Perhaps I have.”
The reply was no sooner translated than the Patagonian found himself surrounded by the seven men questioning him with eager glances. Paganel was so excited, he could hardly find words, and he gazed at the grave Indian as if he could read the reply on his lips.
Each word spoken by Thalcave was instantly translated.
“And what about the prisoner?” asked Paganel.
“He was a foreigner.”
“You have seen him?”
“No; but I have heard the Indian speak of him. He is brave; he has the heart of a bull.”
“The heart of a bull!” said Paganel. “Ah, this magnificent Patagonian language. You understand him, my friends, he means a courageous man.”
“My father!” exclaimed Robert Grant, and, turning to Paganel, he asked what the Spanish was for, “Is it my father.”
“Es mio padre,” replied the geographer.
Immediately taking Thalcave’s hands in his own, the boy said, in a soft tone: “Es mio padre.”
“Suo padre,” replied the Patagonian.
He took the child in his arms, lifted him up on his horse, and gazed at him with peculiar sympathy.
63
Español? – Spanish?
64
Vos sois um homen de bem. – You are a brave man.
65
Sem duvida um Patagão. – A Patagonian, undoubtedly.
66
Dizeime! – Answer me!
67
Vos compriendeis? – Do you understand?
68
No comprendo. – I do not understand.
69
Sí, sí – Yes, yes
70
“Lusiades” – «Луизиада»
71
Camoens – Луиш де Камоэнс, португальский поэт, крупнейший представитель литературы Возрождения в Португалии XVI в.
72
Thalcave – Талькав
73
Neuquem – Неукен (название реки)